


Like They'd Just Take The Hand

by roakswords



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roakswords/pseuds/roakswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime persuaded Locke not to take Brienne. He failed to persuade him of much else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like They'd Just Take The Hand

‘Lands, titles…you’ll have them all.’ Jaime said, glancing at Locke’s men before whispering to him. ‘The North can’t win this war. You’re a smart man. You understand that. We have the numbers. We have the gold.’

‘Aye, you have both.’ Said Locke with a nod.

‘Fighting bravely for a losing cause is admirable.’ Said Jaime softly. ‘Fighting for a winning cause is more rewarding.’

‘Hard to argue with that.’ Locke replied.

They exchanged a smile and a nod to their newfound understanding.

Jaime’s chains rattled as he shifted his position.

‘Now that we’re speaking together man to man…’ Jaime pressed his luck. ‘I wonder if you need to keep me chained to this tree?’ He tilted his head towards Locke. ‘I’m not asking to be free from my constraints…’ He quickly added, looking over to Brienne and the grunt crouched beside her. ‘…but if I could sleep lying down, my back would thank you for it. I’m not as young and resilient as I was once.’ He could see from the look in his eyes that Locke understood him.

‘None of us are.’ Said Locke sympathetically.

Jaime had to work hard to keep from smirking in the simple man’s face.

‘Unchain Ser Jaime from the tree.’ Locke ordered.

Jaime caught the look on Brienne’s face. She was worried. Jaime could imagine her horror. She thought he meant to betray his promise, to form a new ‘agreement’ with these odious creatures and do all he could to turn them to the Lannisters and frustrate the Stark’s cause.

Jaime could have smirked at her too. So typical for the honorable to immediately suspect him of doing something base and self-serving.

The moment he had Locke and his men in the vicinity of the Lannister army their heads would be on spikes.

Foolish Brienne.

‘Come on, men.’ Jaime heard one of the other grunts call. They moved to unchain him.

Jaime couldn’t resist a triumphant little eyebrow raise in Brienne’s direction.

‘Suppose you’ll be wanting something to eat?’ Said Locke.

‘I’m famished, actually.’ Jaime hammed it up merrily, pleased to have the correct level of courtesy befitting his station reinstated after so long wallowing half-starved in filth.

‘I think we’ve got a spare partridge on the fire.’

Jaime saw Brienne close her eyes, thinking him truly lost.

Oh he’d show her. He’d show her just what Jaime Lannister’s loyalty was worth. And he’d relish the look of shock, and dare he say adoration, on her face when she finally saw his ultimate plan.

He might even let her kill Locke, if he was feeling charitable. Though he’d rather do it himself. After giving the man an audience with his father, of course. Making Locke believe all his high promises of gold and glory would come true before thrusting something dirty and rusty into his gut to let him bleed out ugly.

Sometimes Jaime’s vindictiveness surprised even himself. But then, he did have Cersei to look to as a marker. And he could never hope to live up to her skills in that area.

Shoving Bran out the window may well have been the first and only time he had managed to surprise her on that account.

He wondered if Brienne truly knew or believed that he had paralyzed the boy, and for what reason. The thought troubled him more than he would have liked.

But never mind that for now. Right now, there was a partridge with his name on it.

‘Well, I do like partridge.’ Said Jaime, deliberately nonchalant.

The chains fell away. Jaime groaned as Locke’s men helped him to his feet. A year chained to a pole, weeks walking off-balanced by chains, a few day’s riding with his arms roped to his sides and a night chained to a tree had his limbs well and truly seized. He longed to stretch.

Yearned for his fingertips to touch his toes. Craved to feel his shoulders crack as he bent his back to the ground. But that would show weakness.

Right now he needed these men to see him for the man he was. The preternaturally resilient Lannister.

  
The men frog marched him away from the tree, away from Brienne, towards the fire.

‘Bring the bird over here and the carving knife.’ Said Locke, walking ahead of him. ‘Will this work as a table, my lord?’ He continued, gesturing to a large flat wooden stump on the forest floor.

Jaime could have happily eaten on all fours from a pig trough at that point, but he continued his show of nonchalance. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, this will do…’ He said, trying not to sound too eager. He could see a hint of a smile at Locke’s lips and suspected the man had seen through his act. But it didn’t matter. Let Locke take his amusement. The smile, and teeth, would be smacked from his face soon enough.

The men holding his arms guided him gently to his knees. Jaime’s thigh muscles screamed at the unfamiliar position, and he couldn’t quite suppress another moan.

He shook dirty tendrils of hair out of his eyes and set his hands on the stump expectantly.

To his credit, Locke made no comment on Jaime’s evident discomfort at being knelt on the forest floor. He oversaw the serving of the partridge with the diligence of a squire servicing his master. He called for a fork and a wooden plate to go with the partridge and the knife when Jaime wrinkled his nose at the bird being set down straight onto the stump. He passed Jaime a strong mead from his own drinking skin when he heard the Kingslayer cough at the dry meat.

‘I hope the bird is to your liking?’ Locke said tentatively, despite the obvious response.

‘Very much so, thank you.’ Said Jaime with a gallant nod of his head.

Locke saw to it that the remnants of the carcass and the eating utensils were cleared away the moment Jaime sat back on his filthy heels to rest.

‘Water!’ He called.

A cup of water appeared immediately in Jaime’s peripheral vision.

As he took it he wondered if he’d be pushing his luck to ask them to pass the scraggin that remained of the partridge to Brienne. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her eat anything other than hard-tack.

‘Forgive me for my presumption…’ Said Locke. ‘…but I wonder if my lord might like to bathe? I’m sure we could rustle up some clothing more befitting of his…station.’

Just like that, all thoughts of Brienne’s rumbling belly were pushed from his mind.

Locke guided him to his own tent, alone this time. He lit candles all about the covered space and departed, leaving Jaime to himself.

Jaime waited until Locke had left before beginning to shrug off the coarse sack-cloth that had served as his cloak in the place of fine wool for as long as he could remember. He paused when two unfamiliar men pushed unannounced through the tent flap carrying a bucket of steaming water. One of them dropped a cloth unceremoniously into the bucket before departing.

Jaime was left alone in the softly flickering candlelight.

Oh he was good.

The rest of his rags soon joined his ‘cloak’ on the floor.  
He tried not to gag at the feeling of peeling material off of his own filth as he undressed and soon he stood naked in the steam from the lone bucket.

Oh he was very very good.

He allowed himself a quick stretch before he plucked the rag from the water, hissing as the heat scalded his hands.

Water slopped over the animal skins Locke had laid out on the floor. Jaime groaned audibly and with abandon at the feeling of the cloth over his skin, the hot water swiping away the crusted grime of neglect and humiliation. Immersing himself in a hot spring couldn’t have brought about a more perfect release.

He sat, naked on the floor, exhausted but satisfied. He could have happily laid down right there to sleep his first good sleep in years.

He had no doubt he would be able to sleep soon. But first there was the promise of new clothes.

Jaime looked about the tent and laughed to himself. A few words. That was all it had taken. A few words and Brienne’s honor was saved, his own dignity restored and the promise of a swift return to the Lannister fold, and to revenge, was before him.

‘I’ve finished.’ Jaime called out.

The voices chattering in the distance died into a strange silence.

‘Very good my lord.’ He heard Locke’s voice reply.

Jaime tugged the corner of the sack-cloth cloak across the floor to drape across his lap as he waited.

The chattering voices started up again.

‘Jaime!’ He heard Brienne’s unmistakable shrillness on the night air.

He frowned, gathering the cloth around his middle as he struggled with difficulty to his feet.

His fingers found the tent flap.

He spied Brienne still tied to her tree in the distance, alone, unmolested. His heart rate slowed a little.

Most of the men had left the fire now and were milling around the clearing in front of the tent. They turned their attention to him as he emerged.

Jaime drew himself up to his full height, no mean feat given how much his muscles had contracted, and tried for as much regality as possible while holding the sack-cloth over his genitals.

He found Locke in the crowd.

‘I thank you for that fine respite.’ Said Jaime, deliberately adding the characteristic twinkle to his eyes that had all but the Starks (and his father) fawning over his every word. ‘Now if we might tend to the other matter?’ He gave a short laugh.

‘We may indeed, my lord. This way please…’ Lock gestured him out.

Jaime took a few steps forwards.

He noticed men stepping behind him to cover his way back into the tent.

Jaime could see only darkness, Locke’s men, a few fallen trees, filthy kit bags and the flames of the fire.

‘I thought…’ He began.

‘That we would find you attire more suited to your station?’ Locke advanced towards him. ‘We shall.’

The sack-cloth was wrenched from his fingers.  
Jaime hunched forwards reflexively, watching the path of the fabric as it was flung away into the trees.

‘This suits you perfectly.’ Locke said, his cheeks dimpled into a closed-mouthed smirk.

‘I do not appreciate…’ Jaime tried for authoritative, but hurt his cause by his inability to stand up straight and remove his clasped hands from his front. ‘…your posturing!’

‘Posturing?’ Locke’s men laughed. ‘My daddy this, my daddy that…’ Locke circled him.

Jaime was uncomfortably aware of the bare backside he could do nothing to hide. In the distance Brienne’s face was up, staring in wide eyed horror. Yes, that definitely made it worse.

‘It’s a funny thing honor.’ Locke mused as he continued circling. ‘A woman is worthless…besmirched, as you so eloquently say, without it. But a man?’ Locke came back around to stand in front of him. ‘A man is no less valuable for the loss of it.’

Jaime took a few hunched steps back. He found his shoulders immediately gripped by the men behind him.

‘You think you’re the smartest man there is.’ Said Locke. ‘That everyone alive has to bow and scrape and lick your boots.’ Jaime thrashed in the arms of his captors, not quite at the point of exposing himself to gain more leverage for escape, but not far from it.

‘My father…’ He began.

Will skin you. Will burn you. Will flay you. Will take you apart…

‘And if you get in any trouble…’ Locke continued unperturbed. He produced a knife from his back. ‘…all you’ve got to do is say “my father” and that’s it, all your troubles are gone.’

The grip on his shoulders tightened, two firm hands took hold of his arms and wrenched them behind him. Jaime flinched at the feel of the night air cooling his sensitive parts.

He was shoved to his knees.

‘Don’t...’ Jaime tried.

‘Have you got something to say?’ Locke came to stand beside him, motioning for one of the waiting men to come forward.

Jaime swallowed back the bile in his throat at the sight of the man shunting his jerkin up and unlacing his trousers as he advanced.

Locke’s knife pressed against his temple.

‘Careful…’ Locke said softly. ‘You don’t want to say the wrong thing.’

Jaime squeezed his eyes shut.

The knife pressed against the side of his skull. He could smell the man in front of him, sickening and pungent in the crisp night air.

‘You’re nothing without your daddy, and your daddy ain’t here.’ Gloved hands found his jaw. ‘So open your lying mouth.’

Jaime did, meaning only to…What? To plead? To bring up that gold again? All that lovely gold that Locke would have…

Straining slick flesh was at his lips. A salty taste.

Bunched skin dragged over his lips as the smooth tip of the anonymous man’s cock pushed in.

Jaime gagged. He near chocked on his own saliva and felt it come sputtering out his lips around the man’s cock. The man didn’t withdraw. He pushed forwards to the sounds of catcalls and laughter, leaving Jaime to struggle for breath through his nose as spittle ran down his chin.

‘Jaime! No!’ Somewhere beyond the men closing in he could hear Brienne screaming. ‘Jaime!’

How he wished she’d shut up. Let him tend to his debasement in peace.

He found himself reconciled to the cock in his mouth a little too easily for comfort. He’d still place being forced to shit himself repeatedly above this particular humiliation. The man thrusting into him expected no effort on Jaime’s part, just his open mouth. It was disgusting, but preferable Jaime thought, to the knife that Locke still had pressed into his temple.

Yes, there had been that conversation with Brienne…Oh Gods, Brienne was still there…about making ‘them’ kill him before...

But he was a practical man. Truly. And there was still the strong possibility Locke intended to make good on his word to take him back to his father and join with the Lannisters. After he’d made his…point.

Gods…He could feel the man at the back of his throat. He was choking, choking again. The smell of the skin at the base of the man’s shaft was inhuman. Like rotting flesh.

Then there was something worse. Gooeyness tickling at his vocal chords.

The man was gone and Jaime felt forwards, caught by the strong hands at his arms, spitting into the dirt. He felt Locke’s blade take a nick out of his ear as he did, but only in the most abstract of senses.

‘Next!’ Locke announced.

There were no shortage of takers.

The strong arms brought him up again, exposing his front as he rested uncomfortably on his knees.

He didn’t even see the face of the next man before his cock was at his lips and pushing in past the teeth that he unwillingly drew away.

The men holding him moved him this time, bringing his upper body up to repeatedly meet the man’s thrusts. He felt hand’s in his hair, Locke’s he reasoned by process of elimination, to push his face onto the insisting flesh.

This man’s cock was thinner, more foul tasting if possible than the last. But he bore it as best he could despite the added insult of the coercion from the men behind and beside him.

‘Next!’

Six times. Six more times, in fact, the ritual was repeated.

Jaime’s lips went numb, they no longer felt like his own. They tingled from the stretching, the retching and his throat had all but closed off to the nauseating tastes of come that refused to dislodge despite repeated attempts at hacking them out between assaults.

When the last man withdrew Jaime lolled on his knees, waiting for the now familiar cry of ‘Next!’ to echo through the woods.

The knife at his temple withdrew.

‘Bring him.’ Locke said simply.

Jaime cried out as his knees were painfully dragged across the rough floor, the men giving him no time to get to his feet before moving him to where Locke directed.

Jaime found himself turned around, his back to where Brienne was chained, facing the same stump he had feasted off earlier that night.

The vice-like hands withdrew, leaving him kneeling naked on his heels before the stump.

‘I…’ Jaime said weakly, mustering as much grace as he could conjure. ‘…applaud your methods of instruction.’ He finished, correctly deducing Locke must be somewhere behind him. ‘This night has been…quite the education.’

If such a thing were possible he'd have sworn could hear Locke roll his eyes.

‘Over the stump Kingslayer.’ Locke spat.

For a second Jaime’s torso moved to comply, before halting with the realization of Locke’s intention.

‘Anything.’ Jaime quickly said, caring that Brienne could hear him but not enough to stop. ‘My father will give you anything.’ He bit his sore lip, eyes squeezing shut as tears worked free at realizing his mistake. ‘I…I will give you anything.’ He tried again.

The furs of Locke’s cloak brushed his naked back as Locke leaned to speak into his ear.

‘Then give it.’

‘No.’ Jaime sniffed. ‘No, please.’

He should fight. He should come up swinging. He should lay waste to as many men as he could before one of them put a sword through him.

‘There must be something?’ Jaime said weakly. ‘Another way we could come to an…’ He coughed in an effort to make his voice stronger. ‘…agreement?’

‘Well the thing is, you see…’ Locke mumbled in his ear. ‘…you’ve already said we can’t touch her.’

Jaime’s eyes remained tightly shut.

‘Come on Kingslayer.’ Locke patted the top of the stump before withdrawing out of view. ‘You know what’s to be done.’

‘Please…’ Jaime pleaded. Not sure quite what he was pleading for at that point. Even the return of the knife to his temple would have been welcome as proof he was being forced under threat to his life.

There was a hand at his bare hips. Suddenly something blunt, not fleshlike, was rammed up his backside.

‘Noooooo!’ Jaime heard Brienne’s screams echoing over his own.

As he came back to himself he found himself wondering if she could see which end of the knife Locke had stuck him with. It wasn't the deadly end, as he eventually realised.

The pointy end of the knife jammed into the dirt as Jaime made the involuntary but very inadvisable move of attempting to sit back on his heels to ease the weight on his withered thighs. He screamed anew.

‘I’ll not ask you again…Kingslayer.’ Locke spat the last word with all the ferocity of one accusing a man of being a bastard or perhaps, more accurately, a cunt.

The knife handle tore at his insides as Jaime slumped forwards, his bare chest rubbing painfully against the unevenly decayed rings of wood.

‘Witness well boys…’ Locke said. ‘…the besmirching of the Kingslayer.’

If it were possible, Jaime hated Locke even more for that. Too late he was starting to understand the man.

Had he understood before...? Too late to ponder now. But he took a moment to dully applaud the man for making an incomprehensible horror even worse by putting him in the position of considering lying about previous sexual submission merely in order to mitigate the humiliation of the present moment.

Of course he hadn’t lain with a man before. He’d only lain with Cersei. He’d only lain for love.

But part of him wished he could summon up some burly Kingsguard, Hand or other similarly high-placed individual to disappoint Locke in his assertion that he was the first.

Strange that such a thing seemed to matter as he lay over the stump, blade of a knife sticking the wrong way out of his arse like a steel tail glittering in the flames.

‘Please…’ He tried one more time.

After a good twist the blade handle was gone. Locke was inside him. And Brienne was screaming again.

Damn her. He thought to himself as his nose grazed the wood. Damn her to the seven hells.

He barely noticed when Locke withdrew.

Barely noticed when they brought his hand up to the stump to lay flat against its surface.

‘Aaaaaaaaaah!’


End file.
